


cruel summer.

by bisexualtrixiefranklin



Series: folklore. [1]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/F, Song: Cruel Summer (Taylor Swift), barely but still, hope u all enjoy this :D, i just like lowercase titles and summaries, ps u don’t have to have heard the song to understand!, taylor swift wrote the lover album for pats and deels, the fic has proper punctuation i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualtrixiefranklin/pseuds/bisexualtrixiefranklin
Summary: “and it’s like some kind of tragic dichotomy: her beginning this summer the same way she ended the last, crying and broken and desperate outside of the nurse’s home.”in which patsy has never been much good at keeping her promises, and summer has never been a particularly forgiving mistress.set from mid s3 through to early s4. based on the taylor swift song of the same name.
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Series: folklore. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152233
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	cruel summer.

**Author's Note:**

> hi besties <3
> 
> hope everyone is well. this is a new little project of mine (and my first series!). i've been getting back into miss swift recently, and since a lot of her songs remind me of call the midwife (and esp patsy/delia) so i thought - why not channel that into some oneshots? some of the oneshots will be grouped together, like the 'chapters' taylor did with her last two albums, however, unless otherwise stated they 100% don't need to be read in order :) x
> 
> realistically, i know delia wasn't mentioned in s3 bcos the producers/writers likely hadn't even thought of her as a character, but i always feel like her dialogue with patsy in her first scene in 4x02 is ever-so-slightly off from their dialogue in the rest of the series. that, and cruel summer being my (current) fave ts song, resulted in this oneshot. 
> 
> a few content warnings - this does cover the events of 4x02, so abigail bisette's stillbirth is mentioned. there are also mentions of sex, hence the m rating, however it is more alluded to and it isn't detailed, but i just don't want anyone to be surprised. this fic IS canon compliant, however it's definitely pushing at the boundaries of canon and i have taken a few creative liberties here and there. that being said, i really hope you enjoy this if you read it!! <3
> 
> ps: you don't have to have heard the song to read this! i have used a few lines of the song as dialogue and have referenced parts of the song in the fic, but it's 100% understandable w/out having heard the song.

> _i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you. and i snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate, and i screamed: ‘for whatever it's worth, i love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?’_

* * *

They break things off in the back of a cafe after Patsy’s last shift at the London.

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Patsy speaks quietly even though there is a permanent buzz of chatter in the cafe. She avoids Delia’s hard stare and stirs the coffee she had bought with no intention of actually drinking.

“I _knew_ you were going to say that.” Delia says, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve been thinking about it for weeks, haven’t you?”

Patsy sighs irritatedly. It’s true they’ve already had several tense conversations about this, but she’d hoped, foolishly, that Delia would take this one slightly better.

“Delia, I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“You’re the one who suggested it!”

“For _your_ sake.”

“ _My_ sake?”

Patsy opens her mouth then abruptly shuts it again, looking around furtively as she remembers they’re in public. She tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath.

“The Nonnatus shifts work completely differently to the London shifts, I remember Jenny Lee telling me. And I’ll be living in Poplar. We would never see each other.”

“We could phone. Or write. We can try to organise our afternoons and evenings off-"

“-District practice isn’t like that, I’ll have rounds and clinic and I’ll be on call-"

“-And I could sneak you in and out of the nurses home, or-"

“Delia, don’t you understand?” Patsy lowers her voice, finally meeting Delia’s eyes. “We _have_ to stop sneaking around like this.”

Delia shakes her head, her breath catching in her throat. Patsy feels a stab of guilt in her chest and averts her eyes from the brunette’s again.

“All we have ever done is sneak around, Pats. I don’t understand why that has to change now.”

“It’s easy - easier - to sneak around in the Nurses’ Home. We live down the corridor from each other. If someone sees me going into your room at night, they assume we’re having a friendly nightcap, nothing more. If anyone sees or hears me going back to my room in the middle of the night, they just think we got carried away talking, or had one too many drinks. We have relative privacy and there’s a record player to hide any...noises that might occur. But it won’t _be_ like that when I’m at Nonnatus - I’ll probably be sharing a room, and I can’t just come and go from the Nurses’ Home as I please if I don’t live there anymore.”

“Girls have friends over all the time-"

“Delia, I see you _every_ night we aren’t working. We go out together an afternoon a week, sometimes more often than that, and it’s _fine_ right now because we both live in the same place, but if I see you, if I make the effort to come from Poplar to see you, even _half_ as much as that - people will start to suspect.”

Delia bites the inside of her cheek.

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Patsy nods a little hesitantly.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Delia takes a deep, shaky breath. Patsy knows it’s to stop her from crying, which somehow makes her feel impossibly worse.

“Delia, listen to me-"

“No, don’t. Don’t try and reason with me when you’ve clearly made this decision without even a thought for me or my feelings or-“

“Delia, you _know_ that isn’t true-"

“Do I?” Delia asks incredulously, and Patsy doesn’t have an answer to that.

“Deels-"

“Please don’t ‘Deels’ me.” Delia says, her voice faltering as she stands up and reaches for her coat. “I don’t want you to try to make me see this from your perspective, because I won’t. I can’t.”

“Delia, don’t go-"

“We don’t have anything else to talk about. You’ve made our decision for us. And that’s the end of it.”

Patsy barely has time to register the bitterness in Delia’s voice before she is breezing past her, brushing away tears with the heel of her hand. Patsy grabs her own coat after a few stunned seconds, and follows Delia out of the cafe, leaving her untouched coffee to go cold on the table.

* * *

“Delia, wait, _please_.”

Delia stops reluctantly in the street as Patsy’s fingers lock around her wrist. She turns to look at the redhead with a hard, unrelenting stare and a raised eyebrow. Patsy glances around briefly, then pulls Delia into a nearby phone-box.

“It’s like you don’t even want to _try_ to keep things how they are.” Delia blurts out the second the door shuts behind them. “You keep talking as if we’re just going ruin it all but-"

“Because we will!”

“-You don’t _know_ that, Pats. And you won’t even give us a chance.”

Patsy can’t meet her eyes.

“Did you even think, even once, about what I might want?” Delia asks. She’s openly crying now, balling the fabric of Patsy’s shirt in her fists.

“I thought about keeping you _safe_. It is too dangerous for us to go on like this. For God’s sake, Nonnatus is a convent - a bloody _convent_ , Delia. It’s bad enough to think about now, imagine if the _nuns_ were to find out about…us.”

“And what if I don’t care?”

“ _I_ care. I’m not having you risk everything - your life, your career, your reputation - for _me.”_

 _“_ Patsy, I _love_ you.” Delia pleads, leaning in towards the redhead.

“And you think I don’t feel the same way? You think this doesn’t kill me as well?”

“You’re not acting like it.”

“And you’re not being fair, Delia.”

“No, _you’re_ not being fair, Patsy. It’ll be fine for you - you’ll have new friends, and a new job, and you will be _fine_ , because you are _always_ fine. But what about me? What am I supposed to do? Just sit here, left on the shelf, all on my own?”

“Delia, don’t be like this, you know you won’t be on your own, you’ve got your friends, and-“

“-And they’re not _you_.“

And Patsy doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Delia won’t look at her.

“I’m sorry, Delia, I really, truly am, you _have_ to believe that.” Her hands find the shorter girl’s waist in the privacy of the phone-box. “But I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you.”

“And that’s just the problem, isn’t it?” Delia says, her jaw set. She isn’t crying anymore, but her voice is quiet, scarcely more than a whisper, which is somehow even worse.

“I’m not the villain here, Delia.” Patsy says, a little more defensively than she means to.

“No, you’re not.” Delia finally looks up at the redhead, releases her grip on her shirt. “But that somehow makes it worse.”

And then she is gone, and Patsy is left standing in the dim glow of the phone-box, alone.

* * *

She’s packing the last of her things, suitcase on her bed, clothes for the next day folded neatly on the chair in the corner, when the door opens suddenly. Delia steps into the room, the door still ajar behind her, one hand resting on the doorknob, like she hasn’t quite made up her mind whether she is coming in or not.

“When do you leave?” She asks, her voice solid like she’s practised the question.

“Tomorrow morning.” Patsy replies calmly, though her heart is racing.

There is a beat, and then Delia is slamming the door shut behind her. Patsy pushes her suitcase to the floor, meets Delia halfway across the room. Delia reaches up, pulls Patsy down into a rough kiss by the collar of her shirt. They stumble backwards together towards the bed; Delia’s fingers move downwards and busy themselves with the button of Patsy’s slacks. Delia presses the taller girl into the bed, kisses down the column of her neck, runs her fingers along her ribs. Patsy arches her back against the mattress, clutches at the duvet, tangles her fingers in Delia’s dark hair.

They’ve done this before, so many times now that Patsy has lost count, but, _God_ , never like this. This time is different, desperate; her skin burns under Delia’s touch almost painfully. The entire thing is laced with broken promises and unspoken pleas – _please don’t go, don’t leave me, I can’t live without you._

When they finish, there is a bruise blooming on Patsy’s collarbone. Delia’s back and shoulders are littered with angry red marks, and Patsy kisses each one individually as Delia weeps into the pillow and begs her to stay.

And then, far too soon, Delia is gathering up her things and leaving for her own room. Patsy is fairly certain that she could spend an eternity with Delia and it would still hurt when she left.

And she wants to say all of this, wants to pull Delia into her lap and hold her, kiss her face and promise to stay.

But her throat feels too tight to speak, and Nonnatus is expecting her in a few hours, so she stays silent instead, watches Delia from her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. Delia turns to face her, holding her shoes in her hand.

“Good luck at Nonnatus. You’ll be wonderful, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Patsy croaks out.

Delia nods. She manages a small, sad smile, then crosses to the door. Something swells and aches in Patsy’s chest; she finds her voice as Delia’s hand reaches out for the doorknob.

“Delia, I-"

“Don’t say it.” Delia says firmly, half-turning around, not removing her hand from the doorknob. “It means more coming from you, so, if you really mean it, you won’t say it.”

Patsy’s breath catches in her throat, but she acquiesces.

“Goodbye, Pats.”

“Goodbye.”

She cries once the door has clicked shut behind Delia.

* * *

She starts at Nonnatus. The work is fulfilling, and the nuns and other midwives are lovely, and she lasts nearly two weeks without Delia before her resolve comes crashing down entirely.

She’s delivered almost four babies in three days and slept a similar number of hours. She feels like she might collapse at any moment.

(Trixie had taken over for her 13 hours into Mrs Williams’ labour. Patsy had almost wept at the sight of her.

“You look dreadful.” She’d said after Patsy had filled her in on the details.

“Thanks.”

“Go home, get some rest. You’ve been out all day. I’ve got this from here.”)

She leans against the wall her bike is parked against, glances down at her watch. The realisation that she can still make it to the London’s Nurses’ Home before curfew cuts through the fog of her brain like a headlight.

She’s securing her bag and clambering onto her bike before she even fully registers it.

Her bones are aching with exhaustion and she knows there’s only one salve that can soothe them.

* * *

It’s almost dark by the time she arrives at the Nurses’ Home. She switches the light on her bike off as she rounds the corner, blends into the anonymity of the night.She parks her bike in the rack outside, discards her hat and stores it in her bag instead. She tiptoes along the dark corridor of the Nurses’ Home like she’s on her way to commit a crime. The path to Delia’s room is burned into her memory; she avoids the creaky spots and loose floorboards almost instinctively.

There is a strip of light spilling out into the corridor from underneath Delia’s door. Patsy shifts her bag into her left hand, takes a deep breath, then knocks.

“Come in.” Delia calls. The Welsh lilt in her voice is more prominent than usual, a sign of tiredness Patsy had gotten used to over their years together. Her chest aches a little at it as she pushes the door open. Delia looks up from her book, the beginnings of a smile dying on her lips as she realises who is standing in the doorway.

“Patsy?” She asks, and the redhead in question can’t quite detect the emotion that underpins her words. “What on _Earth_ are you doing here?”

And Patsy wants to say a million different things, wants to bury her face in Delia’s dark hair and sob until her exhaustion consumes her, wants to fall asleep safe in Delia’s arms.

But there is a crease forming between Delia’s eyebrows and Patsy is too _bloody_ tired to even attempt to form a coherent sentence. So, instead, she glances furtively down either side of the corridor, then closes the door carefully behind her, drops her bag onto the floor.

And then she is crossing the room to Delia’s bed, climbing into her lap, cupping her face in her hands and kissing her in lieu of an answer.

Delia stiffens and Patsy braces herself for the rejection she knows is coming. But then the brunette is tossing her book to the ground and wrapping her arms around Patsy’s waist, bringing her hips up to rock against the redhead’s. Patsy whimpers and deepens the kiss in response.

And Delia’s body pressing against her own is making her feel dizzy, but she needs to be in control right now, needs to feel Delia coming undone beneath her, needs the sound of Delia’s heavy breathing to drown out the cacophony of her own thoughts.

She presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of Delia’s thighs, and Delia throws her arm over her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying out.

* * *

Later, Patsy removes her head from the crook of Delia’s neck, untucks her arm from around her waist. Delia stirs at the loss of warmth but doesn’t waken. Patsy creeps around the room, picks up her shoes from where she’d discarded them haphazardly on the floor in the dark of the night. Her cardigan is hanging over the end of the bed; she shrugs it on against the early morning chill that is creeping into the room. Against her better judgement, she turns to face the bed as she buttons up the collar of her uniform.

And Delia looks like a goddamned angel with a halo of brunette hair spread out on her pillow; Patsy feels like the devil himself as she picks up her clinical bag and slips out of the room, resisting the urge to press a kiss to Delia’s forehead.

As she leaves, she promises herself that it was a one off, that it was a simple lapse of judgment, that she won’t let it happen again.

She goes back the very next night.

* * *

She isn’t entirely sure how it becomes a regular occurrence, but it does.

At first, it’s driven by emotion - she turns up at Delia’s door when’s she’s having a bad day, when the world is too heavy for her to bear, when she feels so overwhelmed she can hardly breathe, when she knows Delia will bring her the salvation she so desperately needs.

As the summer blazes on, it becomes any time she can slip away - between rounds, when Trixie is on call, after a birth. She has had Delia’s shift rotations memorised for years, has figured out the best way to get to her room to avoid being seen, has an array of well-practised excuses stored in her armoury in the unlikely event someone sees her.

They settle into a routine without even really realising it. Patsy slips into the Delia’s bedroom, offers her a dimpled, questioning smile, and Delia is _always_ waiting for her. She removes her shoes, her coat, leaves her belongings on the chair by the door. Delia closes her book, places it on her nightstand, sits up to make room for Patsy. The small bed dips underneath Patsy’s added weight. They sit wordlessly for a moment, and then Delia gives, rolls her eyes and leans forward to capture Patsy’s lips in a deep, longing kiss.

They never talk about it, and Patsy never stays for long. She leaves with a weak smile in Delia’s direction and her telltale burgundy cardigan folded neatly in her bag. Sometimes Delia is asleep; other times she sits on the bed cross-legged and watches Patsy leave. She never asks her to stay, even though she fidgets with the duvet cover and refuses to meet the redhead’s eye. And, every time, as she sneaks out of the Nurse’s Home, Patsy swears to herself that _this_ was the last time, and every time it never is.

She gets some sort of twisted thrill from the danger of it all. Before she left for Nonnatus, the thought of being caught creeping out of Delia’s room before sunrise filled her with dread; now even the creaking of a floorboard fills her with adrenaline, every slightly too-loud whimper from Delia in the dead of the night makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, every footstep that walks past causes her heart rate to quicken.

She’s already pushing the limits, stretching them just beyond their boundaries - she sees no harm in having a little bit of fun with it all.

Her recklessness catches up to her one morning, when Delia has just finished a round of late shifts and she has been on call for the previous three nights. Delia’s head had been warm and heavy on her chest the night before, and she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open despite all her best efforts. When she wakens, her arm is around Delia’s waist and sunlight is trickling into the room through the thin curtains. The feeling of Delia’s long hair tickling her nose and the general early-morning fuzziness of her brain means it takes her a few extra seconds to also register the sound of footsteps outside.

She sits bolt upright in the bed, looks at her watch through blurry eyes. Delia stirs beside her at the sudden movement.

“Pats? What are you-"

“ _Shit!”_

Patsy is out of the bed in seconds, grabbing her jumper from where she’d left it hanging over a chair the night before. Delia sits up blearily, brushing her tangled hair out of her face.

“Patsy, what on Earth is going on? What are you - wait, what time is it?”

“It’s _past six_.”

“ _Shit_!”

Delia practically leaps out of the bed herself, suddenly fully alert. She crosses to the door, sticks her head out to try and get a better idea of what’s happening in the corridor

“Where is my other _bloody_ shoe?” Patsy mutters, on her hands and knees as she looks for the offending item. “I took them both off at the same time-ow!”

She bangs her head against Delia’s bedside cabinet and her hand flies up to nurse the injured area.

“Shut _up_! Someone is going to hear you!” Delia hisses as she closes the door. She locates Patsy’s other shoe at the other side of the bed and tosses it to her. “Pats, you _can’t_ leave right now. All the early shifts are out getting ready to start. You’ll need to wait until they’ve all gone, or someone is going to see you.”

Patsy stares at her incredulously from the floor.

“Are you joking? Delia, I have rounds! And, more importantly, if I’m not back at Nonnatus before Trixie wakes up, she’s going to start asking questions.”

The two girls stare at each other helplessly for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the other nurses milling around in the corridor.

“That’s it, I’m going out the window.” Patsy declares suddenly. She scrambles over to it, fiddles with the lock until she can open it fully, leans out of it to get a better estimation of the drop below.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!"

“Well, what else am I meant to do, Delia?” Patsy asks, rolling up the sleeves of her jumper. “Get caught?”

“You _can’t_ go out the window.” Delia maintains, joining Patsy and glancing out of it herself. “What if you hurt yourself?”

“I won’t, you’re only on the first floor. Besides, I used to sneak in and out of the windows all the time at boarding school.”

Delia raises an eyebrow.

“What on Earth did you get up to in boarding school?”

Patsy smirks, grabs Delia by her hips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She says in a low voice, then pulls the brunette towards her and kisses her impulsively.

Delia hums against Patsy’s lips, winds her arms around her neck, takes a moment to revel in the closeness amongst the chaos of the morning . Patsy slides her hands under Delia’s pyjama top, her cold hands against the brunette’s warm stomach.

It feels a little too like old times for her liking.

She pulls her hands away from Delia, ignoring the sting in her chest at the loss of contact.

“I really should go if I want to make it back to Nonnatus on time.”

Delia nods and steps back to give Patsy room to hoist herself up onto the windowsill.

“ _Don’t_ fall.”

Patsy rolls her eyes.

“I’ll try my hardest.”

“I mean it. How am I supposed to explain to the paramedics why you were sneaking out of my window at six o’clock in the morning if you fall and break your neck?”

Patsy chuckles as she swings one leg over the windowsill to straddle it. Delia suddenly steps forward and cups the redhead’s face in her hands.

“Be safe.” She says quietly, and Patsy knows she means it for more than just sneaking out of the window.

“I will.”

And then Delia kisses her. It’s gentle, chaste, lingering - the exact opposite of everything their recent encounters have been. Patsy doesn’t say anything as they break away, only smiles weakly before she climbs out of the window, and hopes Delia understands the apology within it.

Delia looks on, her heart in her mouth, as Patsy climbs down the wall. After a few agonising minutes, she drops onto the ground with remarkable elegance. She dusts herself down, then looks up at Delia’s relieved face peeking out of the window and grins.

* * *

She doesn’t go back for a while.

The waking up in each other’s arms, the casual wisecracks, the goodbye kiss - it all feels too much like the them from before, when they snuck into each other’s rooms in the dark of the night and giggled for hours as they lay side by side on a single bed and pressed soft, early-morning kisses to each other’s faces.

It all feels a bit too much like _love_ , and Patsy has spent weeks trying to erase all connotations of Delia from that word.

But then Maurice Glennon gets admitted to hospital and suddenly everyone at Nonnatus knows her second-most deep, dark secret and, although Trixie is lovely and the nuns are kind, she can’t help but feel on edge for days.

She visits him on a Thursday morning between rounds and clinic, a harvest festival parcel shoved into her hands by Sister Evangelina on her way out the door. He is kind, and, when she looks at his chart before she leaves, he seems to be recovering nicely, but neither of these do anything to alleviate the anxiety that has been sitting in her chest for days.

And she almost doesn’t go. Almost resists the temptation. Almost doesn’t give in.

Almost.

* * *

Delia is hanging up clothes in her wardrobe when Patsy enters. The normalcy and routineness of the action soothes her slightly as Delia looks over her shoulder and beams.

“Hello, you. This is a nice surprise. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, one of our patients is up here right now.” Patsy says, deliberately nonchalantly. “I’m not on call today so I thought I’d visit him, check how he’s progressing. Do you need a hand?”

“I’m okay, but you could fold those few things for me if you wanted to.” Delia inclines her head towards a bundle of clothes on her bed. Patsy obliges almost automatically, sits down on the edge of the bed, runs her hand over the soft material of Delia’s cardigans.

“So, what’s your patient up here for, then?” Delia asks after a minute or two. “You said ‘he’, so I’m guessing it isn’t a midwifery case.”

“Uh, no.” The cardigan in Patsy’s hands suddenly feels like lead. “He…he has a very rare tropical disease. There was absolutely no feasible way we could have treated him on a district basis, so we had to have him transferred up here.”

Delia pauses, then turns to face Patsy with a frown.

“What _kind_ of tropical disease?”

Patsy thinks about saying its actual name, but she knows that isn’t what Delia really means.

“He was in a POW camp.” She whispers eventually. Her fingers dig into the fabric of the neatly folded cardigan in her lap.

“Oh, Pats.” Delia says quietly, as if she’s worried Patsy might be startled by anything louder than a whisper. “Are you alright?”

Patsy stares at the buttons on the cardigan, commits the pattern of the knit to memory.

“I went to Liverpool.”

Delia seems to experience the whole range of human emotion in about three seconds.

“ _Liverpool_?”

“Yes.

“ _Why_?”

Patsy sighs, suddenly irritated, although she doesn’t really know why.

“Doctor Turner told me the recovery rates for this kind of disease aren’t at all high, and I couldn’t just sit there and not at least _try_ to help. And I only meant to go to the Hospital for Tropical Diseases in St. Pancras, but they told me about this new, experimental drug they were trialling in Liverpool, but, with the postal strike, I _knew_ it might not get to him on time if I phoned and asked them to post it to us, so I just - got on a train and went and picked it up myself.”

The cardigan has become completely unfurled in her lap.

“Patsy-"

“It’s really not a big deal at all, and I wish everyone would stop acting like it is.” Patsy is on her feet now, the cardigan abandoned on the duvet. “We’re nurses, that’s what we _do_ \- we look after our patients, we go above and beyond to make sure that they receive the _best_ quality of care possible.”

“Of course we do, and we all understand that, but this isn’t just a normal patient for you, Patsy.” Delia steps forward until she is in front of Patsy, her hand grazing the redhead’s arm. “Do the Nonnatuns know about your childhood?”

“Yes. I had to tell Trixie - she found me after the diagnosis was confirmed, and she asked how I’d figured it out. She told everyone else when I was away. It wasn’t malicious, or anything like that. She was just worried - but they all know now.”

Delia reaches out to take Patsy’s face in her hands.

“Cariad-"

“Please don’t.” Patsy ducks away from Delia’s touch, takes a few steps backwards out of her reach. “Please. I can’t.”

“Okay, I won’t. But you’re panicking because you’re scared, you need to sit down at least, and-"

“No, Delia, you aren’t listening to me. I _can’t_ do this _._ ”

“Can’t do what, Pats?”

The gentleness in Delia’s voice aches in Patsy’s chest like a stab wound.

“This. _Us_.”

Patsy’s voice seems to echo around the small room as she delivers the fatal blow to put this slow and painful death of a summer out of its misery.

And she, perhaps selfishly, expects Delia to crumble, to cry and plead as her emotions bleed out of her and onto the linoleum. Instead, something unreadable flickers across her face and she sets her jaw.

“I was under the impression that there was no ‘ _us_ ’ anymore.”

And for all the years Patsy has known Delia, she really should’ve known a counterattack was inevitable.

“Delia, listen, I know what I said a few months ago, but don’t be naïve, please. This isn’t...I’m upset and you’re comforting me. We fell asleep in each other’s arms last week. And, yes, maybe this isn’t the ‘us’ from before all of this began, but you can’t deny that...that there isn’t _something_.”

“You have _got_ to be joking.” Delia says with a dry laugh. “Patsy, I have spent this _entire_ summer _completely_ confused as to where I stand with you. _You_ are the one who broke my heart in that cafe. _You’re_ the one who disappeared for weeks and didn’t even _try_ to contact me. And _you’re_ the one who turned up here and kissed me, completely out of the blue, without even so much as an explanation afterwards. And you waited for me to fall asleep, and then you left. So, don’t talk about ‘us’ like this was some sort of shared decision, some sort of arrangement that we both agreed on, because I had _nothing_ to do with any of this.”

“ _You_ came in here the night before I left-"

“That is not the same thing and you know it!” Delia’s voice falters at the end of her sentence. She takes a steadying breath before she continues. “Every time you come here, it almost kills me, and, yet, it’s like it makes me want you even more - the secrecy of it all, the thrill of it. So, maybe, it’s me that’s the fool here. Because I just let you - I let you come in here and break me, over and over and over again. It’s like I’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone. And the worst part is that you don’t even care. You don’t cry, you don’t bleed.”

“Just because you don’t see me bleed, doesn’t mean I don’t. This hurts me too.”

Patsy expects an angry rebuttal from Delia, an accusation of some sort. Instead, she shakes her head sadly, wraps her arms around herself.

“Then maybe you’re right. If it hurts us both so badly, if it truly makes us both feel so horrible - then, you’re right, we should end it. When you first started coming, I used to wait up at night, hoping, _praying_ , that you would turn up, but now - now all that waiting just makes me feel ill. We should’ve never let it get to this point, we should’ve ended it that night, in that cafe. This whole summer was a mistake.”

Patsy feels like she’s been punched in the stomach, like all the wind has been knocked out of her.

“Delia, I-I know what I said, and of course I have my regrets about this summer, but - time that I spend with you is never a mistake, not for me, and-"

“Don’t. Don’t say beautiful things to me that you don’t mean, because I’m not strong enough not to believe them.” Delia’s eyes are full of tears now, as she sits down on her bed and buries her head in her hands. “You should go. Please.”

Patsy had known this conversation was coming since they had started this venture, but, in all the times she’d imagined it, she’d never expected it to end like this. She’d expected reconciliation, declarations of love; imagined herself running her fingers through Delia’s silky hair and kissing her gently.

And she so desperately wants to go to Delia now, kiss away her tears, put her head in her lap, pledge herself to her forever.

But her feet are rooted to the ground, and Delia is crying, and it’s as if the whole world is burning to the ground and all she can do is stand there and watch.

Because this is what she wanted, isn’t it?

“Delia, I-"

“Please just go. Please don’t make this any harder.”

Delia’s face is stained with tears as she lifts her head up out of her hands. Guilt twists in Patsy’s gut like a knife. She nods, stoops to pick up her bag from the floor, crosses to the door. She pauses, her hand hovering over the doorknob, when she hears a stifled sob from behind her. She turns to face Delia, speaks before she can change her mind.

“For whatever it’s worth, I love you. Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

And it’s maybe - definitely - the wrong time to say it, but she’s already lost Delia once without saying it, and she’ll be damned if she lets it happen for a second time. The image of Delia’s crestfallen face as the door swings closed seems like it will be burned into Patsy’s memory for eternity.

It’s only when she gets outside and into the late summer air that she realises she’s crying too.

* * *

“You’re a little later back than I expected.” Sister Julienne comments, as Patsy slips into the clinical room. She’d hoped to avoid seeing anyone else until clinic, to have an hour or two to herself to regain her composure as best she could, but she supposes she’d rather have to converse with Sister Julienne than Trixie, who would definitely comment on her bloodshot eyes, or Sister Monica Joan, who would definitely say something unknowingly wise and make her burst into fresh tears.

“I’m sorry, Sister, I bumped into an old friend from male surgical.” She offers a well-practised excuse almost automatically as she begins unpacking her bag. “She asked me to go for a quick coffee and I’m afraid time rather ran away from me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t chastising you, Nurse Mount, I was merely making an observation.” Sister Julienne says kindly. “I don’t need you until clinic anyway. How is Mr Glennon?”

“He seems well. He was awake and talking to me, but it’s too early to say anything for definite, of course.”

“And you, Nurse Mount? How are you?”

Patsy hesitates for just a fraction of a second too long.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

And if Sister Julienne sees through her lie, she doesn’t let on.

* * *

The final remnants of summer ebb away into autumn. Jenny Lee comes back and then leaves again, for good this time. Patsy teaches Tom how to dance for Trixie and clears up the misunderstanding that follows. She looks on as Chummy loses her mother and coos over the Turner’s new arrival.

With no warning, the temperature drops dramatically and winter settles over Poplar like a blanket. She spends most of her time working, dealing with the Christmas influx of babies, or at the mother and baby home with Chummy. She watches the children’s concert and drinks advocaat cocktails late into the night with Trixie. Cynthia leaves and Trixie isn’t quite herself for a few days.

Spring arrives and brings with it Barbara and Nurse Crane. Patsy holds back Barbara’s hair as she vomits on her first night at Nonnatus and whispers about Nurse Crane behind her back with the other girls. Trixie and Tom get engaged and Trixie doesn’t stop smiling for what feels like weeks. Patsy hugs her and flicks through wedding magazines with a glass of Babycham and tries to pretend it doesn’t make her own heart ache.

She thinks about Delia no matter what season it is.

Mrs Bissette gets assigned to Barbara towards the end of April, and, after the new midwife’s failure to find a foetal heartbeat and subsequent disastrous 999 call, Patsy is assigned to Barbara - who, God love her, really is trying her very best.

Which is how Patsy finds herself sitting on a bench outside the London on a Tuesday morning, a thin cardboard folder of Mrs Bissette’s medical records in her hands and Delia standing in front of her with wide eyes.

“Patsy?”

“Delia - goodness, hello.”

Patsy has never wanted the floor to open up and swallow her more than she does right now.

“Your hair!” Delia says, pointing to her own head in demonstration. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

Patsy reaches up to run her hand over her ginger up-do. She’d done it almost on a whim, a few weeks before Christmas. It had been almost therapeutic in a way - severing the last ties to the London, to male surgical, to those _God-awful_ lilac uniforms, and, most importantly, to _Delia_.

She’s gotten so used to it now that it seems almost foreign to her that there was a time before she was a redhead.

But perhaps that was what she had been going for.

“Oh, yes - I did it just before Christmas. I was already halfway there, so I suppose it really wasn’t too much of a jump.”

“It’s nice, it suits you.” Delia looks at her curiously for a moment, then shakes her head as if she’s knocking herself out of a trance. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, it’s all been a bit of a palaver at Nonnatus lately. Barbara - that’s our new midwife - had one of our expectant mothers run up here yesterday without consulting Doctor Turner first because she couldn’t detect a foetal heartbeat. Of course, it then all turned out to be one big false alarm, didn’t it? Poor thing, she’s so new I suppose it isn’t really her fault, but you’d think she’d committed _arson_ or something with the grilling that Nurse Crane - she’s new too - and Sister Evangelina gave her over lunch. Trixie too, actually, come to think of it. Anyway, Nurse Crane ran all of Mrs Bissette’s files over here yesterday in her car, but then we got a phone call this morning from Mrs Bissette’s husband saying she’d appeared home in the middle of the night! To be honest, I really don’t know the details but she’s back at home now and staying for good, I believe. Sister Julienne was just going to ask The London to send the files back in the post, but the thought of that was making my skin crawl and I ended up with a false alarm this morning, so I offered to cycle up here and collect them myself. I’m just checking to make everything is all present and correct, I think it might just tip Evangelina over the edge if it isn’t.”

Delia blinks, tries to fight off the smile tugging at her dimples.

“Sounds like midwifery is keeping you quite busy.”

“Yes, it is rather. Oh, and I’ve got 11 Cub Scouts with first degree burns as well.”

This time, Delia doesn’t even attempt to keep the smile off of her face.

“How on _Earth_ did you manage that?”

“It wasn’t me!” Patsy cries indignantly, but she matches Delia’s smile. “It was Fred - for some reason he thought having them do a ‘Lighting Fires’ display at the district jamboree was a good idea. I think I might be suggesting we switch it to a ‘When Lighting Fires _Goes Wrong_ ’ display instead now. Might save my blood pressure.”

“I have _so_ many questions.”

Patsy lifts her medical bag from the bench and onto her lap, then pats the space beside her in invitation. Delia accepts bashfully and sits down.

“Go on, then.”

“What’s a district jamboree?” Delia asks, leaning back, propping her elbow up in the back of the bench.

“I _wish_ I knew.” Patsy laughs, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“And you’re a-” Delia leans a little bit closer to Patsy, “-cub leader now?”

“It’s called an _Akela_ , actually.” Patsy teases, but then looks down into her lap with a genuine smile. “We help out a lot in the community at Nonnatus, and I ended helping with a few things for the Cubs, sort of by accident. I thought I’d hate spending time with a group of ten-year-old boys - it’s not really something I ever felt _particularly_ inclined towards - but I like it. They’re nice boys. Fred asked me a couple of weeks ago if I’d take over from him, and I didn’t even think about saying no. Besides, I needed something to fill my evenings now that...”

Patsy tails off, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. Delia blushes and leans away from the redhead. After a few tense, drawn-out seconds, Patsy looks down at her watch.

“Gosh, is that the time?” She says with false brightness, standing up from the bench. “I really should be getting back to Nonnatus - it’s clinic today and it’s my turn to set up.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I don’t think the labouring mothers of Poplar would be very happy if you were late.”

“I’m more worried that Sister Evangelina might actually kill me if I’m not there on time. She’s one tiny little mishap away from exploding this week, and I really don’t want to be the one responsible for that.”

They both manage an unconvincing laugh. Patsy stalls, standing awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.

“You know, I was thinking that my Cubs might benefit from a talk on first aid.” She blurts out. “In case any of them have another accident and I’m not there to apply the burns cream for them.”

She immediately cringes at her complete inability to act like a normal human being, but Delia smiles eagerly.

“That sounds like a lovely idea, and I’m sure they’d enjoy it. When I was in the Girl Guides I absolutely loved all the first aid parts.”

“It’s just - well, as much as I adore midwifery, delivering babies all day does rather erase all the basic first aid knowledge from one’s brain. And not to mention that I’ve delivered at least half of those boys’ younger siblings - I’m worried they won’t see me as anyone other than Nurse Mount, the midwife who delivered their baby brother or sister. I thought it might be quite nice to bring someone in from outside Nonnatus, someone new - I just think they’d engage better.”

“Yes. That seems like a good idea.”

“And, well, actually, when I was thinking about it, you crossed my mind. With all your work with the St. John’ Ambulance - I’m sorry, I...it was a silly idea, I shouldn’t have - pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“I can help you out.”

Patsy blinks in disbelief.

“Oh. Really? That-that would be wonderful, thank you.”

“I don’t mind. And I think I still remember some things from my Guides days. When do you meet?”

“Oh, well - tonight, actually, after clinic. But, obviously, we can organise something for next week, if you still want to-"

“I could come tonight. Unless you’ve got something else planned for them already, of course. But I’ve finished my shift. And it’d be much more exciting than sitting in my room all night.”

Patsy, despite her best efforts, can’t stop herself from smiling.

“I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to do with them tonight with all the chaos that’s been going on at Nonnatus. You really wouldn’t mind? You’ve been working all day.”

“So have you, and you’re still going. I don’t mind at all, I promise. I’ll even wear my St. John’s uniform for the full effect, if you like.”

Delia quirks her eyebrows upwards. Patsy has to fight the rush of emotion that floods her just from that simple action.

“Thank you, Delia.” She says sincerely. “Really.”

“It’s no trouble. But you _are_ going to be late to clinic if you don’t get a move on, and, from the sound of things with Sister Evangelina, you might not even be here to take the cubs tonight if you don’t hurry up."

Patsy laughs as she turns to leave, and it’s the first time she can remember laughing properly in a long while.

* * *

Delia is wonderful with the cubs because of _course_ she is. Patsy finds herself watching her interact with them with awe in her chest and wistfulness in the back of her throat.

And then, far too soon, the boys are leaving, newly educated on how to treat first-degree burns, and the offer of fish and chips is out of Patsy’s mouth before she even knows it is coming.

And, even more unexpectedly, Delia smiles and agrees.

* * *

The sun is setting as they walk back to Nonnatus, and it almost frightens Patsy how naturally she and Delia fall back into easy conversation despite all their months apart.

They’re joined halfway through the evening by Trixie, who is pretending she hasn’t been crying, despite the redness of her eyes. In return, Patsy and Delia both pretend they hadn’t heard the entirety of her argument with Tom and his subsequent storming off.

After a round of tea and some idle chatter that seems to cheer Trixie up, Delia checks her watch and excuses herself to catch her bus before she misses curfew. Patsy casually offers to walk her to the bus stop, using the dark of the night as a disguise. Delia readily agrees.

* * *

“Thank you for coming.” Patsy says as they reach the bus stop, wrapping her arms around herself against the night chill.

“Of course. You’ve got a really nice group of boys there. And Trixie is lovely. I had a nice time.”

“Can I see you again?” Patsy blurts out before she can stop herself. Delia exhales heavily, as if she’d been holding her breath the whole night waiting for Patsy to ask her that exact question.

“Yes. Please. I’m off on Thursday, if that helps.”

Patsy shakes her head.

“I’ve got clinic, and then I’m on call. Friday? I’ll have to do my rounds, but I’m off for the rest of the day. I could see you in the evening.”

“That’s perfect. I get off at five.”

Patsy smiles, her hand brushing against Delia’s under the streetlight.

“What about seven, then? I can meet you outside the Nurses’ Home.”

“No, don’t be silly, I’ll come here-"

“No, I’m not going to make you come all the way down here when you’ve been working all day. I’ll meet you at the Nurses’ Home.”

“Pats-"

“I insist, really.”

It’s Delia’s turn to smile, the dimples in her cheeks deepening. She nods.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you on Friday.”

* * *

Abigail Bissette gives birth to undiagnosed twins the next day. The first, a girl, is stillborn and the second, a boy, survives.

Barbara, still brand new, falls apart after the first baby is born. Patsy takes charge, sends Barbara out of the room for hot water, shoves her own feelings into a place where she can’t feel them and holds Abigail’s hand through the rest of her labour. She bundles Barbara into Nurse Crane’s car a few hour later, hugs her tightly, gives the older woman a grateful smile. She runs Abigail a warm bath, opens the windows in the bedroom, strips the bed and makes it again with fresh bedsheets. In the kitchen, she takes a soft, woollen blanket from Mr Bissette and wraps the baby girl in it, then hands her gently to Sister Evangelina.

“Will you be alright if I go now?” The nun asks, reaching out to squeeze Patsy’s shoulder.

“Of course, Sister.” Patsy answers, looking over her shoulder towards the bedroom door. “I just want to stay for a while, make sure Abigail’s alright.”

“You’re a good kid, Nurse Mount. Don’t be too late home.”

Patsy smiles weakly as she watches Sister Evangelina turn and leave. She stays with the Bissettes for another hour - she makes Abigail a cup of well-sugared tea, sits with her whilst she drinks it, helps her into a fresh pair of pyjamas. Outside, she leans against the brick wall of the tower block, a steadying cigarette between her lips. Poplar is trapped on the cusp of summer, where the days are gradually lengthening but a spring chill persists throughout the nights. Her bike taunts her from a few feet away. She checks her watch automatically like a long-lost habit.

25 minutes. The roads will be quiet at this time of night. If she hurries, she can make it.

* * *

And it’s like some kind of tragic dichotomy: her beginning this summer the same way she ended the last, crying and broken and desperate outside of the Nurse’s Home.

She pads along the corridor, burgundy cap clasped in her hands. A floorboard creaks under her feet like an echo of last summer. She reaches Delia’s room almost intuitively, lays her hand against the cool wood of her door, the faint familiarity soothing her.

She pushes the door open gently, whispers Delia’s name into the quiet of the night, her facade finally beginning to slip as she nudges the brunette awake. Delia holds her face tenderly as she sobs, presses kisses to her hair as Patsy finds solace in her embrace.

Except, this time, there is no passion or desire, no rough kisses or stifled whimpers, no bruises left on collarbones or the inside of thighs.

Instead, Patsy rests her head in Delia’s lap and prays that her lover understands her through her tears and half-sentences and shaky breaths.

And Delia does.

* * *

“Will I still see you on Friday?” Delia asks the next morning. She is lying in her bed, propped up on her elbow. Patsy stands beside her, tying the belt of her coat into a neat knot.

“Yes, of course.” She answers sincerely, turning slightly so she can look Delia directly in the eye, pulling a few loose hairs out of the collar of her coat. She bends down, cups Delia’s face in her hand, and kisses her softly.

“I missed that.” Delia hums as they break away.

“Me too.” Patsy murmurs, running her thumb along Delia’s cheek. “But I really need to go now.”

“I know. Be safe.”

“I always am.”

* * *

They end up in the park on Friday evening, sitting ever-so-slightly too close together on a bench as they watch the sunset. Delia’s hair is loose around her shoulders, blowing gently in the evening breeze. Patsy watches her contentedly as she reaches up to brush a few misbehaving strands out of her face.

“What?” Delia asks, after a moment, catching Patsy’s eyes on her.

“Nothing.” Patsy says, leaning against the bench, angling her body toward Delia’s so that their knees touch. “I’m just been thinking about the first time I met you.”

“Oh, God, Pats, why on Earth are you thinking about that?” Delia groans, hiding her face in her hands. “It was absolutely mortifying and/”

“No, Deels, I don’t mean the first time Nurse Mount met Nurse Busby.” Patsy interjects, though the corners of her mouth quirk upwards as she remembers how she had to wash her uniform four times to get all of the iodine out. “I mean the first time _I_ met _you -_ in that bar, _after_ work, remember?”

Delia pauses for a moment, then smiles as she finds the memory.

“Yes, I do. God, I was _miserable_ that night before I found you. Mary had dragged me all the way there because that junior doctor she liked was going to be there.” Delia rolls her eyes, sighs heavily enough to ruffle her fringe, then her expression softens. “You bought me a drink that night, when I met you at the bar.”

“I did. Scotch.”

“And it was _disgusting_.”

Delia pulls a face. Patsy laughs.

“You know, I do think one of my greatest achievements is converting you into a Scotch drinker.”

Delia rolls her eyes, but giggles. The sound of it makes Patsy’s breath catch in her throat.

“You left early that night” Delia says, suddenly serious. “I remember looking for you later on and one of your friends saying you’d gone, but I never found out why.”

Patsy glances down at her lap, smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her trousers

“I, uh - I left early because of you, actually.”

“You did?”

“Not because of anything you did.” Patsy assures, relieving the hurt expression on Delia’s face. “It’s just - after I saw you at that bar, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The whole night. You were so pretty, and vibrant, and _kind_ , and I wasn’t any of those things, not then, not before you. And I was _so_ sure that you’d never feel the same way about me as I felt about you, and so - I phoned a taxi and I went home.”

Delia doesn’t say anything, just looks at Patsy intently with those round, blue eyes,

“I sat in the back of that taxi and I cried like a baby the whole way home,” Patsy continues, a little unsteadily, “because I _knew_ that no one else would ever understand how I felt.”

“ _I_ understand.” Delia says quietly.

“Yes, well, I know that _now._ ” Patsy jests despite the tears that have gathered in her eyes.

“You never told me any of that.”

“I didn’t need to. It stopped mattering the first time you kissed me. Because then I _knew_ that I wasn’t alone, that you felt the same way, that I wouldn’t have to cry in the back of cars anymore. And then, that night last summer, I ruined it all. I walked away from you, from the only person who’s ever truly understood me, and I couldn’t even justify being upset about it, because I _chose_ to do it.”

“Pats-"

“I should never have tried to end things between us before I went to Nonnatus. I should’ve had faith in us. I should’ve known that it doesn’t matter what happens to us, because as long as we’re together, we can survive anything, whatever the world throws at us. And, Deels, I don’t want to have to keep secrets, but I will if it means I get to keep you.”

Delia just nods and smiles tearfully, too choked up to say anything.

“Because I thought we were doomed.” Patsy says, and Delia can see the honesty in her eyes. “Last summer, I thought we were doomed, but - _surely_ \- if we were doomed, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Delia reaches for Patsy’s hand under the safety of their coats. “Last summer was cruel. This one will be better.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! when i first started writing this oneshot, it was only intended to be, like, 3-4k, but ended up being nearly 9k and causing me to procrastinate quite a lot of uni work, so if you're still here, i really appreciate it <3 
> 
> \- b x
> 
> (also, thank you to everyone on twitter who's put up with me whinging about this for WEEKS, i love u all x)


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